


Every Time I Die A Little More

by Nicolinan



Category: Sicario (2015)
Genre: Drunkenness, F/M, Fucked Up Relationships, Fucking, Guns, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-06 21:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14065656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicolinan/pseuds/Nicolinan
Summary: They can't stop thinking about each other.





	1. This Isn't What I signed Up For

**Author's Note:**

> This thing hasn't been through a beta, because I just can't find one. English isn't my first language and I apologize if there are some less than optimal sentences here and there. (I can't find any, but still.)
> 
> Also, I'm taking artistic liberties with the first scene. Just live with it. I wish there had been more flesh to it in the movie.

The first night he came back he was silently sitting on the sofa in my living room. I don’t know how long he’d been there. I’d worked late, filling in reports and been home a good hour. I’d eaten some yoghurt, showered, brushed my teeth and had only a towel wrapped around my body and another around my hair. He must have been sitting there, quiet and still for a long time, listening to my activities. I wasn’t surprised really, that I hadn’t noticed him. The man was like a ghost.

I hadn’t seen or hear anything from Alejandro, nor from that fucker Matt, for almost exactly three months.

It was still bright outside and enough light shone in through the shades, so I hadn’t bothered turning on the lights. 

I was dabbing my wet hair when I saw the silhouette of a man. I would have recognized him anywhere, any day, or night. I didn’t scream. I gotta hand me that. But I felt like I was going to faint from fear. I’m well trained. I’ve got good instincts and threw myself back, towards my door. I knew exactly where the holster with my gun was. But he’s better trained. I didn’t get more than two steps before he had shot up and pushed me up against the kitchen counter, his palms pressing against the flat surface and his muscular arms on both sides of my hips. I tried to push away his left arm to escape, but he pressed his heavy body against me and kept me pinned to the unyielding surface. 

I whimpered with fear. I had nothing against this man, and I knew it. He knew it. He’d overpower me no matter what I’d try, unless I had a gun and some distance between us. But I weren’t sure even that would help. He had an almost supernatural speed and strength. 

“Sh-sh-sh,” he whispered soothingly, his face a mere couple of inches from mine. His eyes gleamed in the dusky room. I stared into them, hypnotized. His body was so familiar somehow, the shape if it, his scent, the rumble in his chest when he spoke.   

My thoughts fought for space ín my mind. Was he here to kill me? Why in that case? I’d played along. I hadn’t talked. It was slowly killing me, the fact that I had been such a coward and signed that paper, but I didn’t want to die. I really didn’t. Sitting there with my own gun pressed under my chin, just a twitch of a finger away from complete oblivion, I had realized that I wanted to live. If I was dead I couldn’t testify anyway and they’d win either way. So what was the difference? 

I had betrayed myself, and everything I believed in. I had been shot, strangled, beaten -  nearly murdered. Twice. I would never be the same. 

What was worst, what had haunted me sleepless nights this last month, was how hard it stung that it was Alejandro who had delivered the two worst blows. The absolute coldness in his eyes when we had our ten second stand-off on the Mexican side of the tunnel, when he shot me without a second thought. It would stay with me for the rest of my life. Because he had saved me just the day before. And just a few hours before he shot me he had comforted me and showed me kindness in a world where it didn’t exist. Had he really known for sure that I had an armoured vest? He shot two bullets in almost the exact same spot, in the absolute middle of my chest, where I would be by far best protected. But had he been willing to kill me? 

Early the next morning he’d held a gun to my head. It hurt even more than the intense physical pain in my chest did. After, it had taken me hours to feel like I could breathe again. 

 

\-----------------------

 

The fear I felt the morning after the op, when I heard the faint rustle from inside my apartment, was worse than anything I’ve experienced in my life. I knew it was him even before he spoke. 

“I would recommend not standing on balconies for a while, Kate,” he drawled, just a disembodied voice, but the most terrifying sound I could imagine at that point. 

I don’t know if I made the choice consciously, and it sure as hell wasn’t well thought through, but I grabbed the railing of the balcony and swung myself over it. I lived on the second floor and when I hit the ground I landed properly enough, upright, but an almost debilitating pain shot up though my legs. My heart pounded so hard that it made my limbs feel like jelly. Limping on my bare feet, I walked a few steps, then I ignored the searing agony and started running, straight out into the desert, not caring about the increasing pain in my feet. My will to live triumphed the discomfort. I didn’t hear him say anything, but I heard the thump behind me as he apparently also jumped off the balcony and started towards me. I dared a glance behind me. 

I still had some distance. I didn’t have a plan, I didn’t know where I was running to, but every fiber in my body screamed at me to get the hell away from Alejandro Gillick, ruthless hitman extraordinaire. 

I heard his steps getting closer and no matter how fast I flew across the sand, the pebbles digging into my feet, twigs scraping my legs, he gained at me. I glanced behind me and screamed when I saw that he was already within reach. He tackled me and I fell forward, scraping my every bared patch of skin on the rough ground, my chest aching intensely. My temple was bleeding again and my cheek had taken a hit as well. I slammed my arms against his chest, hit his face with several punches with my clenched fists, tried to wrestle him off me with moves I knew by heart, moves I’d practised over and over again at work. But I had nothing on his heavy body and his skills. For a few seconds it was as if he almost allowed me to pummel him, then he grabbed my arms in one hand and slammed them to the ground, over my head, the other gripped my chin and steadied my head in a firm hold. He straddled me, heavy on my hips. 

Two days earlier I’d had the same fight with fucking Ted and lost. This man had saved my life then. Now he was gonna take it. I panicked and screamed. 

“Nononononono.” I trashed from side to side. 

His grip on my chin hardened and he forced my head until our eyes met. “I’m not Ted,” he said. “Calm down, Kate. Stop fighting. I’ll let you up, but you gotta calm down.”

I stared into his eyes, trying to gauge what he was up to, but his face was as impassive as ever. Tears streamed down my face, pooling in my ears before they fell along my neck and soaked the ground. He let go of my chin and caressed my cheeks, wiping some of the wetness off. 

My chest heaved erratically under his weight, and my sternum hurt bad. But I stilled. 

“Don’t run,” he said slowly, as if to a child, and then he cautiously let go of my arms, one inch at a time, ready to pounce again if needed. I nodded unhappily. 

He got up from his kneeling position and stood, then he stretched an arm out towards me. I grabbed his strong, warm hand and let him pull me up. I stared emptily at him.   

You don’t run from Alejandro Gillick. You can’t run far enough, or fast enough. You don’t get away.

None of us moved. We just looked at each other, both sweating profusely from the run, the fight, and the already steadily rising heat. He nodded back towards my apartment. “Come,” he said. He let me take the lead, walking a few inches behind. I limped badly because now, when the adrenaline rush started to wear off, my feet hurt immensely. Of course he noticed. 

“Let me look at you, Kate. Stop. Show me your feet.”

I lifted one. He grabbed around my ankle as if it had been a hoof and inspected my sole, then he frowned. I didn’t want to look, they felt like they had been grinded into a bloody pulp. Then I lifted the other foot, but he had already seen what he needed to see. “You’re not walking on those.” And with that he scooped me up in his arms, as if I weighed nothing. He carried me all the way back home, up the stairs, opening my apparently unlocked door and set me down once we were inside. 

I took a couple of painful steps forward and noticed that I left traces of blood on my carpet. 

He noticed too and shook his head, making a face. “That was stupid, Kate. Don’t make things harder than they need to be. Sit down.”He nodded towards my chair. His voice was soft, but left no room for negotiations. 

I moved towards the table, filled with dread. My legs barely carried me when I walked to my death. Or at least that was what I thought I knew. I didn’t know I was going to be given a chance, a choice. I had cursed myself over and over the whole night for telling Matt that I was gonna talk. I should have been more clever than that. You don’t threaten people like these. You just don’t. But I was hurt. And majorly pissed. I hadn’t thought it through. 

My knees almost gave out when I bent them to sit and sank down on my chair. I looked up at Alejandro just in time to see him lift a gun and point it at me. I froze completely. He had my gun. I hadn’t seen it at first in the shadows. But that was my gun. 

“Oh no, Alejandro,” I whispered.

He was so calm. Frighteningly calm. He knew that I already had a profound knowledge of my complete helplessness. I looked at the man. His eyes were almost compassionate again. Like they had been when he comforted me after he saved my life. His presence filled the room completely.

“You look like a little girl when you’re scared,” he said with unexpected tenderness. 

He rose and strode over to me, his eyes never letting go of mine. He sat with a sigh, my gun pointed at my stomach. He watched me in silence. It seemed to last forever. I had so much I wanted to say, but my lips wouldn’t form a single word. I followed the hard, weathered lines of his face, his gruff salt and pepper beard, his hooded eyes that looked as if they’d seen more than any human should see.

“You remind me of the daughter they took away from me,” he said, his voice hoarser than its usual raspiness. He didn’t move, neither did I. The part of my brain that hadn’t turned to mush from fear found it ironic that he’d kill me after saying that. 

“What are you doing here?” I whispered. My parched throat wasn’t able to produce a sound above that.

He sighed, produced a paper and lay it on the table between us. “I need you to sign this piece of paper.” He paused as I tried to decipher it. Then he spoke again. “It basically says that everything we did was done by the book.”

“Bu- but-” I stuttered. They wanted me to sign off any right I’d ever have to tell the truth about the disaster that was yesterday. No, no, don’t make me do this! My vision was blurred with tears. I tried reading what it said, but failed. 

He picked a pen out of his pocket and tossed it on the paper. It bounced on my knuckles before it settled.

“I can’t sign this,” I finally whispered, trembling, because I knew what he was, what he could do, how bad he could hurt me. Still, I just couldn’t. We looked at each other in silence. Hadn’t I been so scared it could have been a comfortable silence even. I tried to plead with him, silently. ‘Don’t do this to me.’ He could be beautiful, hadn’t his eyes been so… dead. Did any life matter to him? When your own doesn’t anymore, does anyone’s?

“Sign it” he said, still so softly. 

I hurt so bad, my insides clenched in pain and I covered my face as it scrunched up. I had to. but I just couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I didn’t flinch when he carefully lay his hand around my forearm, engulfing it completely in his large palm, and put my arm back down on the table. He kept holding it, his thumb stroking my skin, as if trying to soothe me.”It’s okay. It’s okay.” 

“I can’t sign this.” I looked at him and slowly shook my head. My voice nothing more than a meek whisper. I pleaded with him wordlessly, our eyes searching each other, the moment stretching. 

He sighed heavily and leaned forward, his hand still holding my arm, his palm warm on my skin. I don’t know what I expected, but when he leaned in close and put his gun under my chin my fear level spiked into something I’d never experienced before. I knew, with complete certainty, that Alejandro would do this. Kill me. 

“God!” I burst out.

“You would be committing suicide, Kate.” His face was close to mine, but not menacing, only saddened. 

“Please, Alejandro… You saved me…” I  whispered. I had never felt such despair in my life. I have seen enough murder scenes to clearly envision the blood and brain matter splattered on wall and ceiling, my head having exploded all over the room. “Why did you bother?” I asked, bitterly.

He shook his head slowly. “Come on. Sign it,” he said with something pleading in his voice, and yet something final. He didn’t seem impatient. But he didn’t negotiate. If I didn’t comply now, I’d die. Tears started trickling down my cheeks. He held my gaze, then his hand left my arm that he’d been holding the whole time and moved to my face, caressing the tears away from my cheeks. “Kate…” He stroke my hair, then he pressed the pipe of the gun harder against my chin. 

I shivered, heat and chill coursing through my body. Then I leaned closer and picked up the pen. Trembling, I signed away everything I had fought for in my life, everything I’d prided myself of, and tossed it away like a coward. 

I looked back up at him. He looked down at the paper, then up at me, his face an unreadable mask. Then he leaned back and pulled away the gun, picked up the paper and stood. 

“You made the right choice, Kate.”

I shook my head, staring at my hands, folded on my lap. I was crying freely, shivering violently from the shock. I heard the familiar sounds of a gun being disassembled and the parts being tossed, scattering on the floor. Then there was no sound. Eventually I looked up. He was standing absolutely still, just looking at me. When our eyes met he moved forward, slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. I was far from wild. I was beaten. I felt like I was dying. Then he took a few steps towards me again and sat back down on the chair opposite me.

“Come here,” he said in a low voice and stretched out an arm, palm up. 

There was something so comforting in the way he said it, and up until last night I had felt such kinship with him for some reason. I’d felt like he saw me, like he cared. I know I had cared because he had always looked so forlorn. He had that same look now. My brain screamed ‘run’, the rest of me wanted to lean in and let him put his arms around me. My heart beat wildly, I shook so badly that I could barely move. Eventually my brain lost the struggle of wills. I leaned forward, not even as far as an inch, but of course he noticed it and pulled me to him, engulfing me in a careful embrace, as if not to scare me. 

“You’re shaking so much,” he whispered. 

I couldn’t speak. 

His hold around me tightened, then he rose, scooped me up in his arms, hugging me against his solid chest and carried me to the couch, pushing the table to the side with his knee as he sat down. He smelled so very him. Heavy, musky, no perfume, just male, just him. He rested his chin on the top of my head and none of us spoke for a while. My ear lay against his chest. I heard his heart beat, felt the slowly rising and falling when he breathed.

“I never wanted to hurt you, Kate.” His voice a rumble in his chest.

“And yet you did,” I said, having regained to tiniest of composure now that I knew I would live.

“Yes. I am sorry for that.”

“You did what you had do do,” I whispered. 

“It needed to be done,” he said. “I got what I came for.”

My heart sank. “My signature on a piece of paper.” I closed my eyes and saw myself signing it, on repeat.

He flinched. “No. Last night. I got closure.”

I looked up, meeting his dark gaze, so full of emotion again. “Did you find the man who killed your family?”

He looked surprised. 

“Matt told me last night,” I said. “When I tried to beat the shit out of him but ended up being slammed to the ground instead.” Then I added: “But then I got really pissed at being strangled, shot, beaten, and used. So I said things...”

He made a face. “Yes, Kate. I got him.”

I nodded.  

“Will you be okay?” he asked.  

“No,” I said. . 

He nodded. Then he lifted me off him and put me down next to him, placing a quick kiss on my forehead. “I must go.” He rose, took one last look at me. “Take care of yourself, Kate.” He frowned and sighed heavily. “You should move to a small town. Where the rule of law still exist. You’re not a wolf, and this is the land of wolves now.” Then he turned and disappeared from my view. I heard the front door open and close. I didn’t move for a very long time. 

The feeling of his lips on my skin burned hot even longer. 


	2. I Just Want To Know What I'm Getting Into

I can’t just lie down and die. 

I pick myself up. Slowly at first. I don’t consider moving even for a second. That was such a dick thing to say, so patronizing. As if I can’t handle myself. I chose this. What happened was shit, but I’m still here, I’ll stay here. This is my life. 

Reggie asks a thousand questions. Understandably. What had Matt and I been facing off about? And why was I more bruised come Monday than I had been when we split up that fuck-awful Friday night? Why had I signed that waiver? Reggie knows much, much less than I do of the operation, but he is a good cop and has suspicions that it was indeed not done by the book. He has a hard time accepting that I, of all people, would agree to what happened..

The ‘I can’t tell you, it’s classified’ eats away at us. Barely noticeable to begin with, but as the weeks pass by and I don’t confide in him like I always did, a distance is slowly growing between us. 

I don’t want to be recuperating at home. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts and confided to my apartment that suddenly doesn’t feel particularly safe anymore. Not after Ted, not after Alejandro. It feels like a walk-through-kill-Kate place. I consider moving. So I flip papers, administrative duty. My bruised body heals, my bruised ego doesn’t. 

I look longingly at Reg and the other as they gear up and leave for real field work, kicking in doors. And eventually, after a psych evaluation that I pass gloriously, they let me back out. I kick ass at pretending.

There’s a new fury in me. I think of Matt Graver when I work, and maybe I use just a little more violence than I need to. But we hunt down the scum of the earth and no one have objections. Once, I think of Ted. I saw his face that night, beaten to a pulp, a raw fear in his eyes. I have no doubt about who did that and I feel absolutely nothing else than that he got what he deserved. I think of Alejandro and it should infuriate me even more, but it only distracts. He’s the one who really hurt me, for fuck’s sake. 

I start working out and finally Reggie and I find some common ground again. We meet in the gym and spar. I build muscles. I put on some pounds. I have a crazy high metabolism, nothing stays on me, but we find a diet of fat and sugar that actually does what it does to every other American: pack on pounds. I don’t want to be taken down by another Ted, or a Matt, or… Alejandro. 

  
\-------------------

  
When he comes back, three months have passed. He’s sitting silently on my sofa, on the same spot where he held me when I cried. 

Alejandro Gillick has been fodder for my nightmares for a little more than ninety nights. I’ve woken up sweating profusely, seeing his face before me, feeling the gun pressed up against my chin, and here he suddenly is, back in my life. 

Is it a wonder that I turn on my heel and run? I only make it two steps before he has shot up from the couch and catches me. I’ve put on muscles. I’ve trained harder than I have in my life. I do put up a fight, trying to dislodge myself from his hold, but his presence weakens me. Had it been someone else, even someone of his size and strength, I might have made it, but when he press up against me I turn to fucking clay. 

Trapped between his body and the counter, my heart feels like it’s gonna jump out of my chest. I’m sure he feels it because the tiniest of smiles plays at the corner of his mouth. 

He tries to soothe me, his face a mere couple of inches from mine. I have feared so much that he would come back, and I’ve fucking longed so much for him to come back. I haven’t felt such an immediate connection with anyone for a very long time like I felt during the few days we worked together. In spite of the betrayal it’s still there, that feeling of a kindred soul.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper and swallow hard.

He studies my face in silence and I try not to get sucked into the black holes that are his eyes. I fail spectacularly. 

“Don’t run Kate,” he says. “Please.”

Alejandro and ‘please’ is a combination I never thought I’d hear. “I can’t promise you that,” I say. “It depends very much on what comes out of your mouth next.” I put up a brave face that I’m sure he sees right through.

He takes a tiny step back so as not to crush me and I inhale shakily. “How you been?” he asks softly.

“So… is this a fucking social call? What are you, my shrink? I’ve had enough of those, thank you very much.”

He snorts. “I’m sure you get to talk and talk and talk about your traumas in the appropriate forum. Question is, what do you say?”

“So that’s why you’re really here?” I say bitterly. “To check up on me? I’ve held up my fucking end of the bargain. I’m not very keen on getting my head blown to pieces. I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not stupid.” Then he releases me and takes a real step back, watching me warily. My eyes dart around the room, and he knows what I’m after. “Don’t bother looking for your gun, Kate. It isn’t within reach.”

I huff. “Yet another man to boss me around.”

He smiles. As always it doesn’t reach his eyes. They are as dark as ever. “I know you haven’t talked. Don’t worry. I’ve… wondered how you are.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Fine. Up until tonight.”

“Really?” He sounds very doubtful. It angers me and I push at him to get him out of the way. I see how he tense up to catch me if I’ll try to run. 

“Why are you so afraid that I’ll run?” I ask. “It’s not like I can cause you any harm.”

He leans against the counter, regarding me. “Well, I’m here for you, not to speak to empty air. Also, you don’t need to run. I’m not armed. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“I have nothing but bad experiences with you being here,” I say. I can’t let go of his gaze, and he holds mine. 

“I know,” he says and takes a step forward. 

I feel his breath on my face, but I don’t back even though I can. I don’t flinch when he lays a hand on my shoulder and a shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with fear. 

“Couldn’t you just call, like normal people?” I whisper. 

“I’m not ‘normal people’,” he says. “And would you have let me come here if I did?”

“Probably not,” I say. 

He draw circles on my shoulder with his thumb, then his hand slides a little further back and I feel his large palm warm on my neck. It’s oddly comforting and leaves me absolute breathless. 

“I’ve dreamt about you,” he says. 

“Nightmares?” I ask. 

He laughs. “Not really. But quite vivid.”

“I dreamt about you too,” I say.

“Nightmares?”

“Oh yes.”

He cocks his head, his fingers threading through the hair at the nape of my neck. I lean my head a little back, closer to his touch. Something glints in his eyes, maybe the first real expression I’ve seen. Or no, there was a tenderness those few seconds when he asked me how I were after I was strangled. I think that is one of the moments that rooted itself in me. 

He pulls me closer, and I let him. “Nightmares?” he asks. 

“Yes,” I say hoarsely. “Of guns. And you. Death.”

He scans my face and strike a few tendrils of hair out of my face, tucking them behind my ear. “I have thought about you, Kate.”

I swallow hard and decide to take back the initiative. I lean in, our lips a mere hair’s width away from each other. Then I brush my mouth against his. He gasps, his hand on the back of my neck pressing me hard against him. Our eyes are locked and the kiss is nothing but lips meeting lips at first, then I open my mouth and let him in. Our tongues touch and then I lose myself in our kiss completely. He grabs around my butt and lift me up on the counter, pushing my thighs apart and moving in between them, pressing his body against mine, one hand remaining on my butt, the other wandering up, back to my neck. 

“Kate,” he groans, then he lifts me with ease and carries me the few steps to my couch, dropping me on my back, following suit. I feel the very obvious sign of his arousal  pressed against my core. 

His body is heavy in a pleasant way. I like the feel of a man pressing me down. I may be small, but in my work I’m always the force, and the thrill of a real man on me is extremely arousing. 

His mouth crash on mine, devouring me, as his hand find one breast and squeezes it hard. I arch into him and moan. I try to sneak my hand down between our bodies to touch his hard bulge through his pants, but he grabs my wrist and push it up above my head. Then he starts placing kisses down along my throat, to the neck of my t-shirt. I gasp and arch into him. 

He gasps, and then he suddenly gets up, leaving me with a feeling of being empty and cold, missing his body. 

His eyes dull. “I’m sorry,” he says and back away. “Sorry.” Then he turns and leaves. 

I remain in the same position, slamming my head back against the cushion, heart pounding, chest heaving, confused, and thoroughly unsatisfied. I groan out loud. What the fuck happened? A man with more fucking issues than even I have? 

I squirm and pull down my zipper, sliding my fingers down to my incredibly wet folds. I circle my clitoris, push my fingers inside. I feel how ready I was for him. I think of his mouth on mine, his bulge pressing against me and scream out loud when I come harder than I’ve done in a very, very long time. I want him in me so very much. Would have wanted. I don’t think I want to get to know Alejandro Gillick. He’s a dangerous, volatile man, and I get enough of those at work. But, by God, do I want him. 

Fucking stupid men!   

\-------------

Alejandro is not fodder for nightmares anymore. Absolutely every night I think of him, touch myself in empty frustration and make myself come. 

\-------------

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

It’s Saturday night. Or rather Sunday morning. I am not sober. Not in the least. 

I stumble into my apartment, slam the door shut behind me, toe off my shoes and grunt as I almost fall. I wobble as I make my way around the counter, bend my head under the faucet and turn on cold water, gulping it down greedily. Then I can’t remember if I locked my door, so I stumble back and turn the knob. It was unlocked. My head is spinning violently and I support myself against the wall as I walk back into the living room. .

“Fucking hell, Kate.” A dark, slightly raspy voice, with the faintest of Spanish accent, is heard from behind me. I twist around and almost fall. 

His arm shoots out and steadies me with a firm grip on my upper arm. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask. “Thought I scared you off last time.”

“I don’t scare easily,” he says. 

“Coulda fooled me. You know what you did to me?”

“I know what you did to me,” he replies. He push closer, pressing up against me. A very familiar rush of arousal courses through me. His voice is husky, dark, filled with something I haven’t heard before, a desperation, need. Much like my own. It sets me on fire. 

“Don’t do this to me,” I groan. “I had to fucking take care of myself after last time. Don’t tease me.”

At that he grabs my t-shirt and pull it straight up, over my head and toss it. Then he push up my bra and bend his head, taking a nipple into his mouth, flipping it with his tongue, grazing it with his teeth. 

My head is spinning violently. “Are you just gonna leave me blue balled again, then you can just fuck off now,” I mumble.

He laughs, his breath hot on my skin. Then he slides his hands under my butt, lifts me and makes his way into my bedroom, dropping me onto my bed. “I’m not,” he whispers into my ear, sending shivers off throughout my whole body. “Not going anywhere.”

“I’m not sober,” I mutter. 

“I’ve noticed.”

“Are you gonna take advantage of that?”

“Oh yes.”

“You’re a bad, bad man.”

“Oh yes.” The he starts unbuttoning my pants with one hand as he kneads my breast with the other. 

“The other wants attention too,” I say. He doesn’t answer, but lowers his head and lick around the nipple on the other breast. I moan and arch into him. “Alejandro. God!” 

He sits up, straddling my hips, then he leans a little to the side and yanks my pants down to the knees and then off me entirely. He lifts his head and his eyes search mine. My world is spinning and I struggle to hold his gaze.

I lift my hands to his chest. “Let me touch you.” I follow the contours of his broad shoulders, his massive frame, up and caress his cheeks, thread my fingers through his hair, exploring him like I’ve wanted to do for a very long time. 

His hands rest warm on my hips, but not moving. He closes his eyes and leans his head back. “What are you doing to me, Kate?”

My head fall back against the pillow. Then nausea rises in me and I shift under him. “Oh god, I gotta to puke!”

He jumps up and off me and I stumble to the bathroom, vomiting floods in the toilet. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and sink down on the cold tiles, sweating profusely. 

I sense a presence and look up at Alejandro, handing me a glass of water. Oh, for fuck’s sake, that was extremely sexy of me. Way to go, Kate. I take the glass and drink greedily. When it’s empty he takes it out of my hand and refills it. “Uhhh, no… I can’t…” 

“Drink it,” he says in that voice that leaves no room for negotiations. 

I sip it until it’s empty again. He takes it and when he comes back he’s putting a blanket around my shoulders, chuckling a little.. 

“Done?”

“Uhh, I think so, I say, swaying as I stand, supporting myself with a hand on the doorframe, silently pleading with it to stop moving.. 

“Come.” He leads me back to bed and I fall onto it. 

When I wake I’m alone. 

  
\--------------------------------

  
I vaguely remember him visiting. I try to figure out if we had sex. I swear never to drink again.  

  
\--------------------------------

  
Weeks pass by, a month, two months. The memories of the three times Alejandro Gillick has forced himself into my life plague me, but I stuff them far away to the back of my mind. I work. Hard. I take on everything they toss at me and more. For some ironic reason I get involved in narcotics, because of my stint with the CIA, because they think I have more knowledge now. They have no idea that my only real knowledge is how to play dirty and how to put an assassin on the other side of the border in a secret ops. I learn eventually that not only was Fausto Alarcon killed that night, but also his wife and children. I learn how to compartmentalize, scattering my mind even more. 

For the thousandth time I curse Matt Graver and his team to hell.   

I hear we are going to up our game and work with the CIA again. I have an awful suspicion and tell my superiors that I really can’t do this because… and quickly make up some reason, that sounds really hollow and not believable at all. 

Then they are there. Fucking both of them. I’m called in. and there they sit, casually leaned back in their chairs. Matt has the audacity the grin broadly against me as I enter the room. I give him nothing but a short nod. A shiver runs through me and all I want is to run the other way. I do not want to get sucked into this shit again. 

I didn’t notice Alejandro at first, but when I take one step forward, I see that he’s also there and my heart takes an extra leap in my chest. 

“Kate, come on in.” My superior nods at the only free chair. Right across the table from Alejandro. “Sit down, please. We’ve decided we need to take in a new perspective again on what we’re doing. The CIA have gracefully accepted to help and sent their advisors.” 

He keeps talking, but I zone out. Filled with dread I feel like I’m walking to the gallows. Alejandro follows me with his gaze all the way until I sit down, then he nods curtly. 

“Hi, I say, lean over and stretch my arm out to shake his hand. He meets my hand across the table. Nothing in our faces reveal anything. We’re both pros at covering up everything and anything. It does come in handy here. In the corner of my eye I notice that not even the ever watchful Matt notices anything. He’s fiddling with a button on his shirt. 

They talk. Both Alejandro and I are mostly silent and only answers direct questions. I study him, thinking about all the things he’s done, and shiver. I need him far, far away from me. I can’t do this. 

When we’re all done the group rise in unison, shake each others hands, and start to clear the room. I look around me, take a few long strides and slow down when I’m at his side. “Come,” I say. I need this! I fucking need this so badly. 

He glances around us too, and changes path, trailing behind my back. We walk through a corridor, down a flight of stairs, into a deserted smaller corridor. 

“Fuck you,” I say and push at his chest. He takes a step backwards and I follow, pushing open a door behind him. He lets himself be maneuvered into the little storage room without a word. I slam this large man, this unyielding human up against the wall, put my hands on the cold concrete behind him, one on each side of his head and crush my lips against him. “Fuck me. Now,” I growl.

He doesn’t say a word, but grabs his hands around my waist, lifting me with ease, twisting us around so fast that I’m barely aware of it happening. He keeps me lifted and I wrap my legs around his waist.  

His large, warm hands find their way under the hem of my t-shirt and follow the curves of my back, up towards my shoulder blades, pressing me hard up against the wall. He breathes erratically, and when he moans I feel the rumble in his chest. He unhooks my bra with deft fingers and push it up, uncovering my breasts. Keeping me up against the wall with the mere weight of his body against mine, he moves his hands to my front and grabs my breasts in his hands, squeezing them hard, pinching my nipples, making me gasp. I close my eyes and my head arch back in pleasure. His lips leave my mouth and starts placing a trail of kisses down along my throat. Then he drops me to my feet and, with jerky moves, unbutton my pants, pulling them along with my panties to my knees. I struggle out of them as his hand slides in between my legs, touching my wet, wet core. I writhe and gasp as I unbuckle his belt with shaking hands and unzip his pants. I ache for him to take me. My inner pulsates with a desperate need. He pushes his pants and briefs to his knees, hoist me up against the wall again and lower me until I feel his cock touch my entrance. I squirm and try to make him fill me. I need him in me. Fucking now! Our eyes meet and then he pushes inside me. We fit like a knife in its sheath, a gun in its holster. I’m fucking damaged. I need new metaphors. He thrusts hard, groaning loud. I lay my arms around his neck and cling on as he begins moving in me, deep, fast, as if his life depended on it. Our eyes are glued to each other and I want to devour him, I want to see him come. I want him to watch me as I come because I’m gonna fucking come any second. His crotch is rubbing against my clit and with his cock filling me I’ll very soon fall over the edge. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and gasp. 

“Look at me,” I growl, and he obeys. His eyes gleam in the near dark, and I feel that he’s damn near too. The sensation that  _ he _ takes orders from  _ me  _ is even more arousing. 

Our eyes are locked and as he suddenly starts thrusting even deeper, even harder, impaling me, shoving me bruisingly hard against the wall. I moan loud and uncontrolled as I’m thrown into a raving release, my insides clenching, my body tensing from my toes up to my scalp. I watch as he comes with an uncontrolled shudder, clenching his teeth as he tries not to alert the whole building. 

A small smile plays on my lips as I watch Alejandro’s eyes almost roll back, his face tense and how he seems to have become completely undone. I wonder when he fucked the last time in his life. It’s been fucking ages for me and nothing has felt more wrong and more right than this, than the meeting between us. 

I let myself slide down back to my feet. I feel his still semi-hard erection on my belly, leaving traces of quickly cooling juices. I put a hand between my legs and gather some wetness, then I lift my hand to my mouth and suck on my fingers as I keep his eyes locked with mine. His whole face changes as he looks at me and he opens his mouth as if to say something. 

“Shut up,” I say and gather my pants, stepping back into them. I pull them up and button up. His seed is leaking and soaking my crotch. I don’t care. As of matter of fact I love it. I love how it makes me feel. I want to feel thoroughly fucked. I want to keep the secret with me, physically with me, for the rest of the day. I needed this so fucking badly. Needed him.  

I cast one last glance at him, then I turn and leave the little storage room and a stunned Alejandro Gillick behind. 

My turn to be an ass. 

I’m really fucking sure that he’ll take his revenge in due time. 

 

THE END


End file.
